


Clean Hands

by Satan (CherryBones)



Series: The Land of the LSPD [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - GTA, Gen, I dunno what else to tag this I'm just gonna leave it, I guess???, I think that's literally every character in this jfc, Idk what tags to give this it's all pretty vague, This got so out of control, i just realized i never put miles on here wtf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4492935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryBones/pseuds/Satan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's dirt under every fingertip in Los Santos.<br/>A tale of the fall of the Los Santos Police Department's cleanest hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [punkfairyprinxe (punkrockbrucebanner)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=punkfairyprinxe+%28punkrockbrucebanner%29).



No one in Los Santos remains clean. There's blood on every set of hands, from the tiniest child to the eldest adult. The first lie, the first wrong turn, the first gun, the first run. Everyone winds up with their hands stained red. Some accept the red, revel in it, let it soak deep into their soul and become a part of them. Others try to mask it in good deeds and blind faith and hope. These are the ones most often found shot dead in the streets because most of the hopeful people in Los Santos either wind up shooting up to avoid it all, something just stains them even more in the process, or they wind up in the one job in this godforsaken town of dirt and death with the shortest life expectancy. They wind up in the Los Santos police department.

Everyone who has spent more than five minutes on the street knows the police are corrupt. It's a survival thing; those that weren't purposefully placed there by the crews and mafias and gangs to keep an eye on things often wind up falling for whispered promises and crisp clean bills pressed into their trembling fingers. No one can blame them. It's either that or wind up on dispatch, and no one wants to end up on dispatch in the streets of Los Santos. There's enough craters in the streets.

This story isn't about the corrupt ones, not yet. It's about the ones who tried their best to stay pure, who were thrown to the hounds by the corrupt, those who survived the longest with clean hands. But this is Los Santos. There's no such thing as clean here, not for long.

They aren't a large group, painfully small and understaffed in fact, especially for the impossible task they are given by the Chief of Police. Burns smiles warmly at them, tells them he has faith in them, that he believes they will catch them, catch Geoff Ramsey, the most notorious of Los Santos, and his ever-growing band of violent and bloodthirsty strays. The main six, Burns tells them, focus on them. Get Ramsey and the other five and it will all come together, that's what he promises.

Demarais is the only one with faith, he's a new detective who by some magic or luck managed to survive training and dispatch with his wide-eyed naivety intact. He bounces like a child in his seat, excited to get to work. Luna texts someone in the corner, smirking every few minutes. Gibson and Marquis glare at different sections of wall. Farmahini went out to get coffee, he's heard this speech before. It's all empty promises. He's been here longer, he knows they're in a dead end. This is where police careers go to die. The desire to live another day is the only thing that keeps him from requesting a transfer. They'll almost never see the streets here. He returns with his coffee and Burns turns that smile on him. There's an edge of humor to it almost, like he knows something they don't. Farmahini chalks it up to stress and nerves, lets the Chief slip past him with a final pat on his shoulder.

None of them see him pull out his phone the moment he leaves the room and immediately dial the contact in his phone entitled simply 'Asshole'. No one hears him laugh the moment he hears the other end pick up.

"Goddammit Geoff, do I have a story you're gonna love."

No one bothers Luna with who he's texting. No one looks over his shoulder, no one sees 'Dragonface' on the screen and questions it. They don't read the sarcastic banter he shoots back and forth with this anonymous texter about the team Burns has set him on.

They just set to work, an impossible task doomed from the start.

It's almost funny how quickly it all falls apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: There's an achievement in Dishonored called Clean Hands and Dishonored was what I was playing when I decided to start writing this. I'm an unoriginal fuck.


	2. Tired

Their little room in the back of the precinct turns into a mess pretty quickly once they get started. It was already a little cluttered from all of Farmahini's old notes but soon there are papers tacked to any wall available, some even on the ceiling, though all bets are on those being there because Luna was bored. Demarais thinks it's pretty funny up until he has to get them off the ceiling, a debacle that makes them all smile, even the bitter Farmahini, who hasn't seemed to lift his ass from his seat for anything but coffee in the last three days. They find him asleep there more often than not, he doesn't bother to tell them that he's living out of his car right now, that his apartment got sacked and he's too scared to go back, that the couch in their cramped little room is the nicest bed he has at this exact moment. It isn't relevant to them.

They fall into a routine. Gibson and Marquis, the two most suited for the field, are the ones outside the most. They don't talk much with the others, though Demarais seems intent on changing that. Luna thinks it's hilarious the way he lights up like a puppy whenever they walk into the room, if his raucous laughter is anything to go by. For his part though, Demarais is amazing at pouring through their info and picking out what is relevant and what is not and tacking it to their ever-growing board of suspects and cases. He doesn't ask to go out with them and so they don't take him. When it's brought up that Farmahini could go, he's there because he'd been on the case long before them and knows the ins and outs after all, he flushes bright and mumbles something about almost shooting himself in the foot the last time he was out in the field. Luna rakes this into his ever-growing pile of gag material, grinning at all of them with a smile smooth like honey and mischief. None of them are sure why Luna is there, he seems to do a little of everything, and when questioned he gives them the only true answer to a question they ever get from him.

"Boss put me here to keep you all in line."

And then he goes back to his phone. They don't take him out of sheer annoyance.

His statement is funny in hindsight.

It takes a month for the shenanigans to begin. It's a late night, well past midnight, and they're all stressed from chasing yet another dead end. Luna makes the decision in a split second, spinning back to his computer and letting his hands fly over the keyboard faster than they've ever seen him actually move before. The song is already starting to play as he pops back up and slithers up behind Demarais's chair. What follows next is ridiculous and lightens the dark mood and they're all grateful, as it turns out that Luna is _really_ good at Gangnam Style. Demarais knows a fair amount of it too, something that leads to Luna stealing his phone and changing every single notification to the song. Demarais can't figure out how to change it back and it takes until Gibson threatens to shoot Luna for him to do it for him, two days of idiotic song later. And it continues.

It's little things. Fun little things in between endless hours of trudging pointless work. Marquis and Gibson get into a battle loaded with testosterone and protein and wrestling, Demarais finds a couple Nerf guns and starts an all out war that lasts for days. Luna bruises his ass trying to get coffee from the break room without touching the wet floor and winds up even more desk-bound than usual, putting him on the end of the mocking this time. It's all in good fun.

But Farmahini can see through it. Can see the tired tension that frustrated him and wore him down long before they arrived. The good humor helps, but his last task force split from stress, three dead, two retired, him trapped in a black hole of a job. And he's just so _tired_. Tired of chasing after a crew that they won't ever catch, tired of holding all their cards close to their chest because half the precinct is undoubtedly corrupt and who knows if talking about a case around a couple rookies could lead to a bullet in their heads. Tired of sleeping in his shitty old car, of showering at the precinct, of eating only cheap fast food or pantry foods. Just _tired_.

Maybe that's why he doesn't register the looks Luna is giving him now and again, assessing and smiling and holding something a little more than just that normal mischief.

Maybe it's why on that day when Luna offers to take him to the bar he winds up spilling to their resident joker.

Maybe that's why he doesn't run the moment he opens the door to Chief Burns's office to see Geoff Ramsey leaning on the desk, grinning broadly and waiting for him. Maybe that's why he doesn't feel all that betrayed when Luna quietly shuts the door behind him, putting him in a room with two traitors and a man who could kill him in an instant.

Maybe that's why when Ramsey grins at him and tells him he has a proposition for him, there's never a thought towards a 'no'.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should mention that there's a lot of stuff in here I picked up while reading headcanons and decided to incorporate, so I'm sorry if something seems random I swear there was a purpose when I started.


	3. Pieces

Nothing changes after he meets Ramsey, nothing really of note. It's a little jarring actually. Ramsey doesn't even ask that much of him. He doesn't even have to stop chasing after him, Ramsey seems to think it's rather hilarious anyways, and it’s clear from the expression on Burns's face that if they ever did get close, he would stop the flow and make the evidence vanish like the smoke off the buildings the Fake AH Crew left smoldering in their wake. All Farmahini has to do was pass any relevant info he hears through the grapevine to Luna or Burns, it's always useful to have more ears inside the precinct as Ramsey says. Most of the cops, it seems, are under the dollar of other crews, split apart and divided and a rather impressive pain in the crime lord's ass. Thinking it over, it’s nothing too bad for the tired and shredded cop to do, he’s still doing his job after all. They shake hands like gentlemen and Farmahini watches as Los Santos's most wanted saunters out through the front door of the precinct like he owns it as well. Farmahini turns to Burns, mouth open, but Burns already knows his question.

"I knew Geoff since we were kids. Me being here was the plan all along."

And so that’s how Farmahini finds himself sitting back in his seat and staring at Luna, fitting all the pieces together bit by bit even though it’s already too late for him to remove his own piece from the board, to leave the puzzle incomplete. Ramsey had promised him that his apartment would be safe, but he can't bring himself to go to that empty place right now, to clear off the dust and lay down in the dark and the cold and wonder what it was he was agreeing too. Give a mouse a cookie and all that.

So instead he contemplates Luna, trying to understand. And it turns out that he's a lot more perceptive than any of them suspected because after a second he spins his chair to face Farmahini and gives him that broad grin.

"You're dying with questions. Lay them on me."

And so he does. How long was he corrupt, did they get him before or after he joined the task force? The question makes Luna let out a breathy giggle that makes him look so fucking _young_ but the glint in his eyes holds a sharp brilliant madness, a madness never seen before from the other detective but one he recognized well. It was plastered in mugshots all around him, and he'd just seen it in their new boss just hours before. A madness unique to the crew who now owned him, lock and key.

"Nah, I was same as Burnie, even if I showed up here a lot later than him. Geoff picked up me and my buddy Kerry years ago but I'm more personable than Kerry so I got this job and he got note-taker."

He snickers like it's some joke that Farmahini isn't a part of, but that's fine. Because it's clicking. That's why he could tell Luna or Burns, both had nearly direct lines of communication. And Farmahini knew the name. Shawcross was part of Ramsey's B Team, his backups for when things went to shit.

He groans, putting his head in his hands, because this is his life now. He doesn't feel any guilt, just exasperation. Luna laughs a little louder and stands, stretching.

"C'mon Farmahini, let's go get a beer."

And so they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the story of my liiiiiife~~~


	4. Surreal

It's almost weird how normal it all seems. They're still after the Fake AH Crew, but now Farmahini understands Luna's occasional strange giggle that had always seemed random in the past. He understands the light-hearted games Luna entices them into better. Like a magician working his tricks, Luna feeds them all misdirection and distraction like candy, his voice soaked in nectar and seemingly innocent mischief, leading them further and further from their goal, consuming their time. Weirdly, instead of resentment, Farmahini finds himself impressed by the ease with which Luna strings them all along, how he cheers them up and encourages them and winds up the LSPD's little toy soldiers while sawing away the supports beneath their feet. It's devious and it makes him feel like he's watching a master at work. Luna would make a good con man. He snorts as he realizes that technically, he is. Farmahini is too, in a sense.

He joins in the games, what reason does he have not to? It's not like he's doing much else at the moment. Somehow, it relaxes him even more. Pinned behind a desk with Gibson beside him as Demarais and Luna pelt the desk with little foam Nerf bullets, Marquis under his own cover and laughing whole-heartedly. It makes him feel lighter in a way he hasn't in ages.

His new task is easy, he realizes soon enough. He's long since developed a bit of a reputation as a bitter recluse after joining the original task force, people think he's trapped in his own thoughts, ignorant of his surroundings beyond the quest for coffee and capture of the group who's now keeping his apartment safe and giving him enough money to keep himself fed and with the water running. They chatter around him, which means he hears much more than the rather garrulous Luna does, but that seems to be the point. Luna is the mole, the one who burrows in and plants himself deep in the roots, infects the soil around him, Farmahini is now the one who sticks to the corner of the break room with his coffee and listens to the beat cops standing around the microwave talk in poorly-hidden code about a shipment coming through for another crew. He's the one who doesn't get a second glance from them as he shuffles back to the room of his pointless little task force and slips Luna a slip of paper alongside a folder, watches as he reads it, nods, and quickly whips out his phone to text Shawcross. He's actually rather competent, Farmahini realizes, it's just that he's competent for the other team.

It continues like this for a few weeks, a month at best. He moves back out of his car into his apartment, settles into his routine, and somewhere along the line buys a fucking pug that eats a pack of lube, something that wound up in his pocket after Luna had brought them into the precinct and started throwing them at everyone telling them that they all needed to get laid before they exploded. The pug winds up being fine, but Luna seems to find his mild indignation at him for the rest of the week hilarious. He names her Penny, and it's all weirdly normal. He can almost forget he's working as a dirty cop for some of the most dangerous people in the city. Hell, sometimes he can even almost forget that he’s a cop, with some of the misadventures they all get up to.

Which, of course, means to Luna that it’s time to start recruiting again. He doesn't mention it to Farmahini, but he notices this time. Notices the assessing looks he shoots the rest of the task force when they aren't paying attention. The way, when he notices Farmahini has caught him, he flashes him that grin that's edged with that unique madness.

Gibson is next, oddly enough, and Farmahini isn't exactly sure how it happens.

They're out, their car is unmarked and Gibson is literally just running him by his place so he can feed his dog and grab a file he forgot, but by the time he gets back down the stairs Gibson is nowhere to be found. He finds him, and the car, two blocks down, with the muscle-bound detective wrestling the fucking _Vagabond_ into the back of their car. Farmahini stares for a minute, agape. Somewhere along the line the mask came off, he can see the facepaint and the mercenary flashes him a grin and holy shit that's scary. Gibson tosses it in beside the Vagabond before slamming the door shut and flopping into the driver's seat with a huff. Clutching the folder a little nervously, Farmahini drops into the seat beside him. He glances at Gibson and the man shrugs.

"He was double-parked."

Farmahini fights the urge to laugh. It's so ridiculous. They won't be able to hold him for more than a few hours, but apparently Gibson is feeling petulant. There's silence for a while as they drive back to the precinct, Farmahini wondering absently when he went from so intent on catching the Fake AH Crew to the level of apathy he feels now, because he knows he's felt this way for a while before he'd swung for their control.

Then he hears it, spinning around in his seat with a surprised huff.

The Vagabond, the fucking nameless monster under Ramsey's control with arguably the highest death count in the entire goddamn city aside from _maybe_ Free, is sound asleep in the back seat of their car, snoring softly. His gaze flicks to Gibson, who glances at him in disbelief. All he can do is nod, confirming that he is actually seeing what they're hearing. They both sit back in their seats and suddenly it all feels a little surreal. He watches as they park and Gibson rouses the Vagabond with a sharp honk of the horn, getting him out of the car and into the precinct before Farmahini can even get a word out. Perhaps a little numbly, he grabs the mask from the back, locks the car from the inside lock, and trails after them. By the time he drops the mask off at the lock-up and finds his way to one of the interrogation rooms, Luna is nearly on the floor in tears of laughter on the dimmed side of the one-way mirror, hand over his mouth to stifle the giggles. Farmahini watches him until he calms down enough to squeal out why he's laughing so hard.

"He fell asleep in the middle of the Marquis and Gibson trying to good cop/bad cop him! Marquis got all red and stormed out! Oh god!"

He collapses in snickers again after that, so Farmahini turns his attention to the mirror, and the two sitting at the table on the other side. The Vagabond is awake again, smiling at Gibson like he's just said something hilarious. And then, just to add to the surreal day he's having, they shift and get into an arm-wrestling contest. That's when Farmahini realizes that the Vagabond isn't handcuffed anymore.

Gibson wins the contest. The Vagabond seems to find this hilarious.

Farmahini leaves the room again. He's officially hit his quota of weird for the day. He’s hiding in the task force room not-so-secretly absorbed in a game of fucking _Tetris_ when Luna comes and offers him a beer.

When they get to the bar, Gibson's already there. Luna flops down next to him, orders them a round on the house. They don't talk until they get their beers. When they have them, Gibson takes a contemplative sip of his and hums.

"So, information huh?"

And Farmahini's officially had it with his whole day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire concept for this chapter literally came from a discussion about Ryan passing out in the back of a cop car when the LSPD picks him up for something.


	5. Disbelief

Sometimes Farmahini really questions his life decisions. Mostly because in the last few months his life turned into a parade of weird. He can't really find it in himself to complain though. It's nice, in it’s own odd little way. It's nice to actually have people that have his back, people who he knows where their loyalty lies. Relaxing even.

Gibson's out a bit more now. He brings it up during one of their now semi-weekly bar jaunts and the man shrugs, muscles making Farmahini seriously worry for a second if his shirt will rend and they'll all get kicked out. He's looking for a bigger apartment and if he's not actually out looking for the Fake AH Crew he might as well do that instead. He tells them about this highrise that has a gym built in. It's all a little ironic, what they're doing on the LSPD dime. Farmahini reminds him that technically, he still can be out looking for them, but Gibson just shrugs.

"Then two birds with one stone. Doesn't Ramsey live in the city center somewhere?"

Both sets of eyes go to Luna but he shrugs, giving them the smile they now recognize as the one that says he has secrets that he's not willing or capable of sharing. They've both realized by now he doesn't have their task force's best interests in mind. Despite his friendliness, he's just there on orders.

Sometimes Farmahini feels like the only one of them who still clings to the idea of one day putting the Fake AH Crew behind bars.

The fact that Gibson's built up some weird macho contest with the Vagabond, _who keeps getting fucking arrested all of the sudden_ , doesn't help.

He just puts a hand over his face and sighs loudly. Stolen pets. Demarais looks a little like he wants to punch a wall, which is an interesting expression on his normally perky face. He’s sitting across the table from the Vagabond, who's leaning back in his chair like he doesn't have a care in the world. And he probably doesn't. The moment his bail is paid for, he'll be gone again. The woman whose cat he stole won't press charges, they can't even convince her to. They don't even know where the fuck the cat is now.

"You stole Mrs. Louis's cat because...?"

"She hadn't fed the little guy in like a week, I was doing her a favor. She should be thanking me."

Farmahini groans loudly, enough that the Vagabond's gaze flicks up to the one-way mirror and he flashes his creepy ass grin.

See? These are the situations where he questions his life decisions.

He hears a breathy giggle behind him and he turns to see Luna halfway in the door.

"His bail's been paid. Figured you'd want to know before I tell Demarais to cut him loose so you can go hide in that little cell we call an office."

He nods, slides past Luna and heads back to their room. Marquis glances up from his work when he enters, nods at him. Farmahini pauses at the doorway before shrugging it off and going to his desk. For the last few days, Marquis has been looking at him and the others with the strangest expression, the same look he gets when he's piecing together scraps of shredded paper into something worthwhile. Farmahini brushes it off, it's nothing he needs to worry about right now. Instead he turns to his computer and his files, deciding what piece of archaic evidence he should look over again this time.

This night is the one where he meets Shawcross. It doesn't even really happen on purpose. Luna's car breaks down after drinks and he apparently has more plans that night because soon enough another car pulls up outside the bar and a short, rather pudgy young man steps out of the driver's seat, waves to them. Farmahini gapes when Luna lights up and shouts the man's name, waving him over to where he's been politely keeping Luna company, Gibson already gone. His jaw drops a little more when, instead of just leaving, Shawcross winds up snagging another beer with them. It's the first time Farmahini's actually seen Shawcross outside of blurry photos, but he picks up quick that, despite appearances, he is just as dangerous as the rest of the crew. He's soft-spoken, quiet in strange contrast to Luna's chatty nature, but his wit is sharp and dry and he's clearly aware of everything around his person. The duo leaves soon after, leaving him with his thoughts.

He realizes belatedly that Shawcross showing his face to Farmahini means that they trust him, at least a little.

He's unsure how he feels about that.

It's another week before something goes wrong.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You cannot tell me that Ryan the fucking animal guy doesn't steal people's pets in any worthwhile GTA universe. I won't believe you.


	6. Worry

Demarais doesn't come into work that day. It isn't a worry at first. They've all had days where they couldn't come in for various reasons. They've been working together for almost four months now, things are bound to happen. What makes it a worry though is the fact that Demarais doesn't call in, which is something he's never done before.

They don't think about it right way but when it gets later and later and there's still no call, the tension starts to set in. Farmahini glances around at the others and there's a collective shrug of confusion. Marquis is still giving them all that look.

They all go home that night, worrying vaguely.

The next day dawns and there's still no call. Farmahini doesn't realize it until Luna points it out, but his fingers are tapping impatiently by the phone. It leads to a little teasing, but he can tell Luna, surprisingly, is concerned too. His fingers twitch in the way that they do when he leaves his phone somewhere or can't access it, when he wants to be able to text his friend but can't. They both know that if Luna won't bother any of the crew about this.

It's three in the afternoon by the time he gives in and calls only to get no answer, four by the time he gives in that little bit more and grabs his keys, heading for the door. It takes less than a second for the rest of them to jump to their feet and follow him. There's nothing else going on anyways. He gets to the car before he realizes he has no idea where Demarais lives. Luna lets out an aggravated sigh and pushes him out of the way to get into the driver's seat. He finds out much later that Luna knows where each of them lives. Luna calls it security, Farmahini calls it creepy. Luna doesn't seem to mind the fact he thinks that.

They're quiet the whole drive, thinking their own thoughts.

Turns out Demarais actually lives in a house. A smaller house but a house all the same, set on the outskirts of the city. They knock on door, still no response. The door is locked but Marquis notices the shine of a key shoved halfway into the dirt of a wilting plant. Luna lets out an amused noise.

The house is quiet inside and Luna's the one who finds Demarais sitting dully on the kitchen floor after a few minutes of searching. He's nearly blackout drunk, looks like he's been that way for a while, and Farmahini knows that look in his eyes. He's unsure how he missed it before, but looking back it's easy to see. The spark of naive excited hope had faded in the last few months, replaced with a sort of exhausted tiredness. He watches Gibson carry Demarais to the old couch in the living room, musing on this.

Los Santos is the death of hopeful spirits like Demarais. He wonders how he'd managed to survive so long with that spark. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe the spark was as fake as the tile beneath his feet.

Marquis glances at him curiously when he comes in to get a glass of water for the drunken detective. He realizes he's probably been standing there thinking for a while, so he brushes past Marquis to the living room, drops down beside Demarais on the couch, Luna on the other side.

It's three glasses of water and some less than gentle prodding from Luna before Demarais breaks his silence and tells them exactly why they found him there.

"I've run over everything again and again! We've had evidence, enough evidence to put all of them behind bars over and over again, but something always happens. A charge is dropped or a raid happens or a technicality is found or it just goes missing! We're never going to be able to catch them because somebody won't let us!"

He hunches, all exhaustion and drunken emotion. His voice sounds close to tears as he puts his head in his hands.

"Are we the only clean cops in the city?"

Farmahini's gaze flicks guiltily, uncontrollably, up to Luna, who starts gently soothing Demarais with his honeyed tones and sweet hollow promises. Demarais slumps against him, swallowing the words down like they'll save him from the dirt beneath his nails. He doesn't realize that the hands gently petting his back and holding him probably drip more blood than anybody else in that tiny room. Luna's eyes are surprisingly empty as he glances up to meet his gaze, tilts his head to indicate that he's got this, that they can go.

Gibson's staring at them, unblinking, processing and coping. Farmahini stands, touches his arm quickly to snap him out of it. Marquis looks like he's finished piecing the scraps together into a coherent image. They drive back in the same silence. Marquis splits off, looking a little worn and tired. He waves goodbye to them, saying he's going to head home and shower. They won't get anymore done tonight. Gibson turns and heads down the street towards the bar. The idea of alcohol makes his stomach twist after seeing Demarais so drunk, but he doesn't feel like going home right then to his empty apartment and his pug and his thoughts. He just orders a water instead. Gibson does too.

"Demarais'll be fine. He's a tough kid."

Farmahini hums.

He certainly hopes so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a huge fan of writing dialogue, but I think Demarais's breakdown wound up half okay here.


	7. Webs

It's two days before Marquis corners them. Or, more accurately, it's two days before Farmahini walks in on Luna groaning and bleeding on the floor, Marquis standing angry and panting above him. Gibson hovers nearby, unsure whether he wants to intervene and risk Marquis attacking him as well. All eyes turn to him as he blinks and slowly shuts the door behind himself, all sounds falling away. Internally, he notes they've probably got half an hour before Demarais shows up for work, if he shows up at all. So that's how long he has to figure out what's going on.

It doesn't take nearly that long. In fact it takes less than a minute after the door clicks shut, and as always, it's Luna's fault. The man lets out a startled giggle, choking out something about them looking like a scene out of a stupid drama show around his bleeding mouth and swelling bruises, and Marquis remembers, oh yeah, he was in the middle of something. His foot rears back to kick Luna in the side before Gibson lunges forward and intervenes, dragging him a safe distance away. Farmahini sets down his coffee, trusting Luna to get up on his own. Marquis glares at him, spits out his words like poison.

"I got called into Burns's office today. I fucking knew you were dirty."

A chill snaps through him and his gaze flicks to Luna, who merely shrugs, dragging himself up to lean against the back of his desk. No one told him apparently.

"I'm not-"

"You're taking money, you're dirty. All of you are."

And as much as Farmahini hates to admit it, he can't deny the truth there. He can't speak for Gibson, certainly not Luna, but while he's probably got the least dirt, he can’t lie to himself and say that there isn’t any there. He's still out after them, still hunting down crooks, but he's still taking the money, still passing on information to Luna and Burns, and lately he’s stopped putting as much effort into something that used to be the next best thing to an obsession for him. Catching the Fake AH Crew took second fiddle next to things like his apartment, his dog, hell even checking up on Demarais and going to the bar have been more prominent in his mind than anything resembling finding new evidence.

A slow corruption that he fell for, yet another thing that Los Santos killed off within himself. Something as sweet and dark as Luna's honeyed words.

He sighs, gives a weak shrug. Marquis's face shifts through a series of emotions, too fast for any of them to catch, before he simply pulls free from Gibson and collapses into a seat, hands coming up to rub at his face.

"And now I am too. I took Burns's deal."

That stops them all. Even Luna looks a little stunned, something Farmahini can absolutely say he never expected to see. They all stare at him until he gives a heavy sigh and explains, slumping back in his chair.

"I'm not dumb. I know most of the cops in this fucking precinct are dirty, dirtier than most of you."

The gaze of the room flicks to Luna, who looks completely unrepentant, before returning to him as he speaks again.

"A lot of them have done shitty stuff, have done stuff I could never forgive. And you assholes...You were clean. Burns told me that only Luna was dirty before this task force got started. I believe him on that, I watched you guys lose interest, and at Demarais's house you almost looked fucking _guilty_ when he said you guys were clean. And if you guys flipped, no matter what your reasons or justifications, that means that the Fake AH Crew isn't something to be fucked with. I'm a survivalist at heart, I'll take the modicum of protection it brings. But don't fucking doubt that if I can put them in jail, I will."

They all nod. Farmahini gives a weak smile, thinking about how similarly he thought when this all started. Luna's smile is a bit wider, amused and knowing, and it twists his stomach bitterly because he knows Luna's thinking the same thing. Luna's brought down two people before Marquis who thought like that, possibly more for all he knows; a third isn't that much of a difference. He opens his mouth to say something, but shuts up when Marquis fixes him with a glare.

"That doesn't mean I'm not fucking pissed. You keep your distance from me Luna, you're as bad as any of them."

The spider who has spun the web of their downfall looks unrepentant again, giving a shrug as he pushes to his feet and wobbles to the door. He can't seem to help flashing them all a broad grin before he disappears out of it, leaving them all in awkward silence.

Three down, one to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again with the fucking dialogue, though I do really enjoy what Luna turned into over the course of writing this. One more to go~


	8. Finale

Marquis manages to impress them all by staying miraculously angry at Luna for a grand total of a week and a half. It's mostly impressive simply because he also manages to avoid conversation with him that entire week and a half, which, in Farmahini's opinion, is virtually impossible. Especially because Luna decides three days in that he is going to be as annoying as possible until Marquis breaks.

It slips back into a rhythm after that, at least for a while. Demarais gets better, in a way. He still seems tired and worn, his tongue is sharper, but he's good-humored and all smiles whenever someone talks to him.

None of them tell him anything and though three of them watch Marquis nervously for the first few days, he doesn't spill either. Even Luna seems hesitant to start tightening the threads of his invisible web and cocoon him into the same corruption he's led the others into.

That doesn't mean he stays that way though. Apparently Luna’s capable of turning his sweet whispers and justifications inwards because soon enough he’s eyeing Demarais again. And everyone else in the room knows what happens when Luna starts eyeing people.

Same as Gibson, Farmahini isn't even in the room when it happens. He finds odd comfort in the fact that Luna is the one to pull the final rug out from under Demarais's feet, to remove the veil and slip poison and creeping darkness into his veins with just his words. Not Burns like himself and Marquis, not the Vagabond like Gibson, just Luna with his dark mischief and too-warm smiles. Luna facilitates, but this is the first he finishes. He decides to feel that comfort instead of guilt about the final sweet soul in Los Santos being dragged through the mud with the rest of their sorry selves.

Farmahini may miss it, but he picks up on it almost the moment he sees them. They step out of the precinct, Luna's face yet again bruising with a forming black eye, but his grin and poor Demarais's lost expression tells it all.

It's the first time Demarais joins them for drinks.

The next day Burns walks into their little office with a grin on his face, patting them all on the back and telling them that they're in for the next big adventure of their lives.

Life goes on, clean hands tainted with dirt and anonymous blood, dragged down by hands near black with crime and mouths dripping empty words like droplets of molten gold.

They learn not to feel guilt when that dirt crops up in yet another unstopped heist, yet another exploded mass of cars and mangled bodies.

And yet somehow, it gets better. Somehow, Los Santos gets better. As better as a corrupt and broken city can.

Horrible people turn up dead or beaten nearly past the point of recognition. Time and again their little task force is given credit for yet another seemingly impossible case solved, all because of their dirty hands and sickly sweet lies. They gain recognition, their team splits and reforms as people in places above them are revealed as crooked, disappear, wind up dead, and they gain rank after rank until it's Chief Burns and his top notch crew of crime fighters, taking down every nasty criminal they can while the Fake AH Crew roams free.

It's not perfect, but it's better.

Ridiculous moments happen. Ridiculous moments that bring exasperated genuine smiles to Farmahini's face, something that he can't remember happening in years. Ridiculous things like The Vagabond and Gibson getting into their weird macho fights and winding up wrestling around on the interrogation room floor. Memories like Marquis winding up in a drinking contest with Ramsey on one memorable night and getting promptly drunk under the table. Adventures like Luna nearly getting himself arrested after a night of revelry ends with him perched on Shawcross's shoulders, shouting to the sky about his 'mighty steed'. Experiences like Demarais sitting in the back of the car with Free when they arrest him one day for a half-drunken attempt to steal a car, swapping frappe recipes while Farmahini sits in the front and wonders how the hell this is his life.

He wouldn't replace it for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over. Did you enjoy?
> 
> Hit me up over [here](satansprettyprose.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


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